To Understand Band
by ncbandgeek
Summary: CHAPTER FOUR UP! A young sarcastic sophomore attempts to write a book about the workings of marching band, and asks the assistance of her fellow band geeks. However, it's difficult when the entire band is sarcastic.
1. Title and Dedications

To Understand Band  
  
By Robyn Marshall  
  
Dedicated to:  
  
Kelly, Sam, Casey, Kaitlyn, C-Pow, Steve-o, Anne, JoAnn,  
And to all my other fellow band geeks who accepted me and  
Gave me a whole new family to come home to.  
  
And to Mr. McGough, the biggest band geek of them all. :)  
  
"Live free, die proud, have fun and PLAY LOUD" 


	2. Chapter One : The Speech

Chapter One  
  
"You know, when I look out into this crowd of teenagers , I see great musicians. I know you are all here because of one common goal, to become better and more magnificent players . and to have a little fun. I think of marching as not just the art of making kids run around at crazy speeds while playing the top hits of the 90's . I see it more as the art of crafting every one of you into the top players you are, and to unite you all into one fine-tuned machine, producing picture-perfect movements and ear-glistening sounds with your fine talents. No, I am not here to pummel you into the ground every time you miss a set. I am here to help you further your education in the arts .."  
  
The dank band room of North Carrick fell silent. Poised on every word.  
  
" ... But heck, maybe I just want you all to make-out and make sexual innuendo's to screw with your parents minds. Whichever you prefer."  
  
An uproar of laughter bellowed through the dark band hall as the entire room full of teenagers holding awkward black cases fell to the ground in hilarity.  
  
"Haha, yeah .. They always liked that one. Anyways, I know that most of you are quite concerned, well, with the band not having a director and all, but I'm pleased to announce that I, Mr. George Canterburry, am your new "Director of Music", if that's what the big-wigs call us nowadays. And my staff and I have prepared a WONDERFUL show for you guys, I really hope to have a lot of fun with the lot of you this year."  
  
Mr. Canterburry was not but 26 years old, I knew this because it was in the band newsletter. His hair was gelled into soft waves, his hair still appeared wet from it, and he was wearing a bright red polo with "NC Marching Band" in gold embroidered in the left chest. He wore khaki cargo shorts, and judging by his legs, he must have ran an awful lot. He looked distressed, and a bit hot to say the least. Boy, that man was sweating like a pig in our poorly ventilated school. Felt sorry for the man, but of course no one had told him of the school's ineptitude to buy any sort of air conditioning device.  
  
The band room also seemed a lot different since the leave of Mr. Kensington, our former band director. The man, who practically did not believe in the idea of laminated papyrus to cover the dark gray walls, was upstaged by old Mr. C who had plastered posters of any media onto it. Several of the typical "You can do it if you try" varieties, a few about determination, and the occasional "band award" scattered the cinder-block siding. On the back wall were 7 posters, each with a seniors name on them, including some rather interesting inside jokes.  
  
On the front board was written "North Carrick MB Theme" and below it read "Robin Hood". At first, I had no idea what to make of this 'Robin Hood' character, all I know is that he stole my damn name and I was going to make him pay. But of course that was immature, but at least Cat thought it was funny when I whispered it to her while Mr. Canterburry was carrying on about how he will not tolerate poorly carried out freshman initiations.  
  
"Wow, this man can really turn our band around, duncha think?" Obviously, Cat was paying more attention to his long speech than I was. I couldn't really give a response based on the 'make-outs and sexual innuendo's' part that I tuned into.  
  
"I mean, he's got lots of great ideas, and he said we might even dance in our show this year! This is really cutting edge!" Well thank the Lord she kept talking, I had no idea how to respond.  
  
"Well what I want to know is, how do we dance to ROBIN HOOD. I mean, was this guy some kind of flamer or pimp? Come on, someone clue me in!" I felt rather foolish as to being the only one in the room who had not heard of this Robin Hood character. But it wasn't as bad as when I announced in Music class that I had never seen nor heard of the Nutcracker.  
  
"Well, Robyn, Robin Hood ." Mr. C chuckled at the ironic connection. "Yes, yes, Robin Hood was a man in the old Sherwood Forest who used to rob from the rich and give to the poor." I guess I appeared disinterested towards him, but he kept on flashing that smile of his and I thought it best to at least respond.  
  
"Yes, but, how do we go about playing music for the old man? I mean, he ought to be dead by now, shant he?" Oh God, I was breaking out the 'old world' dialect.  
  
"Ah, we're not playing for the man, Robyn. We're playing music from the movie, Robin Hood! You know, 'Everything I do', 'Robin Hood's Theme' .. stuff of that nature ." He slowly pointed his baton at the stereo in the left hand corner of a bookshelf that held old marching band tapes and a few rolls of guard tape. ".. Would you be so kind as to hit 'play' on that stereo, Rob? Then you'll hear just what I'm talking about."  
  
I was expecting to hear the original orchestral version. No such luck. I later found out there was no such thing. Hm, what a shame.  
  
"GAH! Jesus Christ!" I screamed when the bass drum was smacked on the tape. What the heck do they want to do, kill all the spectators on the first hit?  
  
"Robyn, relax . it's just a big hit." Well, I could have told you that, Cat.  
  
So we sat in the band room for a good 10 minutes, no one talking. A cough here and there, a scratch on the leg occasionally, and about 7 minutes in Pedro walked in late and was hurrying to get his saxophone together and sat down on the carpeted stairs. I kept looking around the room, meeting eyes with various people with the same thing on their minds, Why are we not outside . I don't need to listen to this damn recording. But I guess it was my fault for inquiring about the musical selection.  
  
As the music faded out, I reached for my clarinet case and began to put it together, keeping my eyes off Mr. Canterburry who I knew was just ready to rant and rave about the wonderful music we were about to perform.  
  
"Oh wow, don't you just love those woodwind parts? I bet you can't wait to play them." .. yeah, a LOT coming from a brass player .  
  
Picking up his megaphone and holding it at his side, Mr. Canterburry proceeded to add, "All right guys, outside for Marching Fundamentals! Seniors and Jason, get the freshman all in a block and put the rest of the upperclassmen in their own, I'll be out in two minutes."  
  
Mr.C took his megaphone and was waving it back and forth in front of his mouth saying 'hello' in an effort to make it work. I just sat there slowly screwing my clarinet together laughing. I hope I hadn't made it to hard on the old fellow, asking him about the music and all. He seemed like an understanding guy, maybe he would take us places.  
  
"Come on Robyn, don't make me make you run laps!" It was Jason all right, wonderful Drum Major Jason. What I wouldn't give to just be allowed to flap my arms around all practice, oh what I wouldn't give.  
  
I slowly applied my reed to the mouthpiece and screwed the ligature on tight. Then I took out my bottle of reed flavoring. Mmmmm . mint. Mr. Canterburry obviously noticed the scent in the air, by all the sniffling coming from his direction. I laughed again and offered him a lick, but he declined.  
  
"You know, Robyn, out of all the school's I could have worked at, you want to know why I came to work here, back at my old Alma Mater?" I looked up from my mouthpiece and nodded my head yes. Gosh, this man loved to talk.  
  
"You kids are so darn easy to work with. Why, you still all act as crazy and wild as I did back in '95. I know that's like an oxymoron, I mean . you're crazy and wild and yet you're easy to work with .. Heh heh . " I forced a laugh .. " .. but really, I love this school, I love this band, .. And hot damn I love you darn sarcastic kids!"  
  
"Well, thanks Mr. C. Jus' letting you know, you might be getting a coupla' 'You're pretty straight' jokes at the beginning of the year with that hair. But hell, it's sexy to me, so that's all that matters, right? Band geek to band geek." I was of course, cluing into the sarcasm with that one.  
  
"Ah you darn sarcastic kids."  
  
I stood up and carefully stroked the cane of my reed to smooth it out as I walked towards the door. Of course, not without tripping over Mr. Canterburry's trumpet case and breaking my finely broken in reed. Oh drat, I guess I'd have to miss Marching Fundamentals. Darn you trumpet case, darn you.  
  
Sarcasm, Sarcasm, Sarcasm. 


	3. Chapter Two : Fundamentals

Chapter Two  
  
"BAND TEN HUT!" I stood next to Jason as he called the upperclassmen to attention, nearly taking my eardrums out in the process.  
  
"NORTH!" The echoes of twenty upperclassmen shouting at the top of their lungs bounced off the high walls of the school to the right. I loved the looks on the freshman's faces, they looked terrified.  
  
Jason turned and faced me for a moment, "What are you doing up here late again? Give me a lap."  
  
I tried to cover. "I broke my reed on the way out, I'm sorry."  
  
"Well tough, go give me a lap. Better yet, run with your clarinet as well."  
  
I grumbled at the thought but replied, "All right, all right." Grasping my clarinet with both hands like an Olympic runner racing in the final leg of the triathlon. I began my lap around the 'ghetto', as was known to us, and continued to run around the fairly small school. As I ran up the hill to the band parking lot, I noticed the band had already started marching fundamentals. I sat my clarinet down on the "band guardrail" and joined the upperclassmen block.  
  
"Ok, first freshman, we're gonna show you some 8 to 5 marching."  
"All right, play us a b-flat scale increasing every 8 beats. Ready?"  
  
The rest of the block nodded.  
  
"BAND TEN HUT!" AS he screamed, the drum major podium seemed to sway uncontrollably . as it often did. Our school's poor.  
  
"NORTH!" I reluctantly shouted. I guess that lap wore me out more than I thought it would.  
  
"Mark , time, mark" The feet of all in the block slowly began to lift up and fall back again, as if walking in place.  
"Forward march!" The entire block moved as one unit down the parking lot.  
  
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8  
  
Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh  
  
It was like clockwork. Every 8th time Jason would lift his hands, the band would switch up the next step in the b-flat scale, and continue this until we all hit high C (well, at least for the b-flat instruments) and we would ascend back to the middle C. It always amazed me that such a bunch of idiots was capable of doing such a high stature manuever.  
  
"Band . halt!"  
  
All the feet suddenly stopped. All the instruments found new homes grasped in the hands of their players in front of their chests, with the exception of the clarinetists and flutes, who held their's below their waists with their wrists locked tightly as to not drop them onto the burning hot tarmac.  
  
"Okay, so now you've seen what marching is about. We don't pick our feet up like those 'ghetto bands' from around here. We roll. Yes, that's right, we roll-step. Did any of you notice how the band was gliding by you? That's because they are simply rolling along. This allows us to put very complex maneuvers in our shows. You've got to practice this like crazy, it has to become second nature to you all. Now, I'd like all of you in this block to line up into one long line by the 40 yard line."  
  
The sad thing was, the 40 yard line was just a row of parking spots marked off with chalk as being the "temporary 40 yard line". Ah, the curse of the music program in private schools. Alas, the young fish all lined up and each of the upperclassmen was assigned a fish to bait and tackle, or in other words, this was their fish to teach the basics too. I got a lil' one called Mary.  
  
"Okay, now, all of you, keep your eyes on YOUR upperclassmen .." okay, now we sound like property . " .. the one who's going to be helping you along in band camp. Watch their feet. Ok, BAND TEN HUT! Forward . march!"  
  
While holding my clarinet face front I began to think harder and harder about my marching . to make it as pristine as possible, damn would I have a guilty conscience if this girl never got marching because I couldn't do it. I just thought, You're walking on a tube of paint, you wanna squish all the paint out. That was what Mr. Kensington taught us last year, it always seemed to work. Left, roll. Right, roll. Left, Right, Left, Right. "BAND HALT!"  
  
Holding my clarinet firmly in front of my nose I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't off step once, I kept going, I hope this Mary girl gets it.  
  
"Ok, that was very nice. You all noticed how they appear to be rolling on top of a ball, right? When you march, I want you to think 'I'm rolling on a tube of paint, and I want to get ALL the paint out!' ." He took a moment to think, most likely about Mr. Kensington . "Now, upperclassmen, I want you to work with your freshman in separate areas of the lot. Clap beats for them and have them march. We'll all come together in fifteen minutes to see the progress."  
  
Boy, this was my least favorite of the activities we engaged in last year at our first band practice. Mainly because I had the most sarcastic and horny band member as my partner, Bill. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't keep shouting random rhyming phrases, "Don't go to the bay, people will think you're gay! Don't procrastinate, masturbate." It was really not helping me keep my embouchure while marching, but I did have great times with that guy.  
  
I led Mary over the far end of the parking lot, by the street. Our band parking lot was nothing to marvel about. Standing towards the school (as we often did while working on the show), to your left you would find Hensley Street, full of avocado green and sky-blue houses, along with the school's small garage, that more often than not, was holding the carts of timpani's and drums for competitions. To the left you found a hill that led about 20 feet down to Mt. Troy road, the street our school was on. The only thing of worth mentioning was the guardrail that stood between the lot and the hill. I've ran into that thing a few times during shows. And to the back was a fence, also a street full of crazy drug dealers. Now you know why we call our school 'ghetto'. It's a running joke.  
  
In the far end of the parking lot, I rested on the guardrail by the garage and asked her what instrument she played (the freshman did not bring their instruments out). She replied that she played flute and piccolo. I thought it was cute, predictable, but cute. She said she dreamt about joining this band for the longest time. When I asked her where she was from, I was kind of surprised. She lived about 45 minutes away from the school. To me, I thought this was lunacy. I lived only 5 minutes away, heck I could walk to school if I had to. I just couldn't see why someone would drive 45 minutes everyday, just to go . here.  
  
Ah, maybe I don't give our school enough credit. 


	4. Chapter Three: The Idea

"How long did it take you to get used to this?" Mary inquired as she stretched out her calves.  
"Ah, not long. All you gotta remember is to do it CONSTANTLY. Sure, you'll feel like a dork roll-stepping through the mall or around the house, but honestly, who's gonna be watching you?" A smile appeared over her once distressed face.  
"Hehe, so, you're a sophomore I take it. Lot's of people have told me that you're a freshman." I looked in fake shock, I already knew half the band took me for a freshman. I can't really tell you why, you'd have to ask them.  
"Yeah, I guess I have the qualities of a freshman. Overly obsessed with band, too into roll-stepping, staying in step with everyone ..." I glanced over at her, now stretching her arms. I stood up and rested my leg on the guardrail with my right arm lain on top. She then replied "Well, I want to be a band geek too. Band's all I ever think about, and before when I only had band class in grade school, that was the extent. Now I get to spend every day after school with people who love doing the same thing I do!"  
"I can't argue with that." I gave her a sincere smile. It seemed like I found a new band geek buddy.  
  
I clapped out beats as she marched back and forth down the lot ... making her shout DUH every time her foot hit the ground. I even went as far as to teach her "turn to the rear in 4" .. she instantly got it. God, did I hit the freshman jackpot or what? After a while I was going to teach her 'boxes' but ...  
  
"All right, time to see how you're all doing."  
  
It was Mr. C. He had finally ventured outside the band room. He had his "University of Pennsylvania" cap on from last year's trip to the CSBA, the Catholic School's Band Association. And it defenitly seemed like he got his megaphone to work.  
  
"And upperclassmen, put your instruments on the band guardrail. We're gonna work on just marching right now." A loud screech echoed through the morning air after Mr. Canterburry ended his order over the megaphone.  
  
Mary and I marched over to the drum major podium and lined up behind Pedro and his freshie, David. Poor ol' David, I had heard that he didn't want to be here at band. Cat told me he was looking to quit, but I was sure we'd make him stay. Mary waved a hello to David, I guess they went to school together.  
  
"Do you know him? What school did you guys go to?" I asked.  
"Oh no, we didn't go to the same school, I just know him from Honors Band. But I went to Mary the Divine Mother."I giggled at the name, I always enjoyed school names that explained people.  
She then threw the same question at me. "Where'd you go?"  
"All right band, I want you to march 16 8 to 5 steps forward, making sure you dress to your partner and to the person in front of you. Freshman in the front row, keep in line with the parking space lines."  
"St. Joseph's ..." I whispered to Mary. She laughed, and I froze for a moment, hoping that Jason wouldn't hear her.  
  
Scoffing a glare towards our direction, Jason proceeded to jump up onto the trembling podium and lifted his arms. Called to attention. Hands in front of us like we were holding trumpets, minus the flutes who pretended to be holding their instruments out to the side .. Clarinetists with hands in place where they would had they be holding theirs, Trombonists trying to be funny by playing "air trombones" and the pit just completely confused as with what to do with their sticks.  
  
Jason's arms started to wave like mad as he shouted out the next command to begin marching. I thought intently on marching smoothly and efficiently. Think think think! You can do this! Rolling over paint, Rolling over paint. Gosh, I was thinking far to hard. Suddenly, I started marching to an entirely different tempo, one of the song in my head (which just so happened to be "I Like to Boogie" .. yeah, great song to march too) when ...  
  
"Marter! What are you doing! Get back in tempo!" I looked over and saw Mr. Austin the Assitant Director shaking his head. "You know how to do this!" he remarked.  
  
I couldn't help but smile at my own stupid mistake. I'd experienced worse before. However, a few more freshman began to follow my lead and were completely off step and lost, some even looked on the verge of tears.  
  
I guess I've gotta teach them to understand the rules of this band.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------  
  
I walked into the front door of our brick red house and was greeted with a friendly "How was band today, hun?" from my mother. I gave her a nod, a nervous nod, and explained that the new director was pretty hot and that we could expect some special things to come. My mother, who obviously is more perverse than me, took it the wrong way.  
  
"Mom, I was kidding."  
"Kidding my ass! Don't say those kind of things!"  
  
"I was talking about THE MARCHING SHOW, Mother!"  
"You could have phrased it more nicely!"  
"Augh, see .. This is why I don't talk about band with you, you don't GET it!"  
  
In fact, I don't think most people really got band, even some of the people in the band. It always bothered me, but I never really thought about it before until now.  
  
"I get that I have to pay 270 dollars a year for you to be away from this house every Monday, Thursday and Friday learning just more vile language and sexual innuendo's than you'll ever need to get by on in college. Sometimes I really wonder what you're all doing up there."  
"We're making MUSIC mom!"  
"Then why couldn't I hear any today, hm? I normally can."  
"Mom, it's the first day of camp! It's rookie day! You don't expect us to play AND march on the first day of band, do you?"  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
"I just don't think I like that director of yours."  
"You've never even MET him mom!"  
"That's my point, why isn't he showing his face?"  
"You'll meet him at the band picnic in August!"  
"EXACTLY! Who knows what he'll be doing to you until then."  
"Mom, are you implying that he's a bad person, or that you just simply don't trust the idea of me making new friends who are older than me .. Because he would NEVER do something vile to us, he's a teacher mother, A TEACHER for heaven's sake, and a CATHOLIC SCHOOL TEACHER, no less!"  
"You're just not getting it, Rob."  
"No mom, YOU don't get it. You just don't understand!"  
  
You see, this is what I mean. People don't understand. It hurts so much that my own mother, who used to be in marching band herself, can't understand why I have so much fun with other people, and seem to be having more fun with a teacher than I do with my own mother. Well, if only she knew what I really love about band was not that I could parade around saying I was "buddy-buddy" with the band director.  
  
And I hope you're noting the sarcasm.  
  
Another thing people don't get is the sarcasm bit. I don't really understand where it came from, but NOBODY at NC is serious. It's quite a plauge, really, but it's something that sets our school apart from the others. Oh, if people only could understand. That's what the world needs most: Understanding.  
  
We don't need no stinkin' World Peace.  
  
I ran into my room and flopped onto my bed. I then stared up into the marching band painting that I made last summer the day after our first rehearsal. It had a fox in our marching uniforms looking off into the distance, with an entire band behind him .. With the quote "Live free, die proud, have fun and play loud" on the bottom in sharpie marker. I then remembered instantly why I loved band, because only people who did it understood.  
  
And that's what set us apart.  
  
But why was I so intent on showing the world how to understand it?  
  
And that's when I thought of it.  
  
To write a book ...  
  
About BAND. 


End file.
